


I'll Sail to Find You

by HurricaneHaley



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Oneshot, Some old ladies make an apperence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-09 21:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HurricaneHaley/pseuds/HurricaneHaley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one really knew about the artist’s past.  And no one really asks because it wasn’t important. He wasn’t very important. And that was alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Sail to Find You

The sheets on his bed were a faded white with years of use. Spots of red wine and cigarette ash stained the cotton and added a little more useless detail to the fabric. 

His bed was just an old mattress lying on a box-spring on the floor of his shabby, one room flat. It contained of a small kitchenette, a bed, a dresser, a couch with a TV to compliment it, a writing desk he also used for a dining table and an off room bath.

It wasn’t much, but it was his home. The only one he had. 

It wasn't quite as bare as it sounded. He was an artistic man, canvases cover the walls and a small mural was painted above his bed. Scripts of Urdu written in different colors were scattered in his flat, reminding him of his native country.

He had built two large bookcases about a years ago that was on either side of his ‘desk’. It was overflowing with random subjects like Russian Literature, Law books, drawing techniques, children’s books, the complete Arabian Nights stories and other small books he had lying around with topics like country flags, music compositions and the name meanings of flowers. 

An antique map of the world hug beside his bed that he had bought at a garage sale and a globe with push pins pressed into it was on small nightstand that accompanied a glass of half drunken water. 

He had a small ‘music corner’ that consisted of a stand up piano that was dangerously out of tune and an acoustic guitar that was missing a string. An old record player that his father had was standing up and stacks of records The Beatles, Nirvana, and The Smiths along with varying artists, were pilled up next to it. Along that were pages off half written music and symphonies with coffee stains rested on top of the piano along with hundreds of cd’s. 

Now that the flat is explained it doesn’t seem so small. Which it isn’t. It’s plenty enough space for a single person.

But it was very lonely.

And he was very alone.

He had no boyfriend, no girlfriend, not even a best friend to share his life and space with. To share his stories, his music, his art. To share his emotions and his love. 

But that was alright. He wasn’t very good at making friends, he was always a shy and reserved child, never having anyone close.

That didn’t mean his flat went unseen.

He was a very beautiful man. His dark, tan skin complimented his dark black hair. His hair wasn’t to say, long, but it wasn’t buzz cut short. It hung in his eyes a little and the sides were kept short and sometimes he styled it around and went for different looks.

He had his ears pierced and a small diamond stud imbedded in his cartilage. 

His skin was inked with tattoos. Arabian script danced across his collar bones and translated words in Urdu swam around his arms. Images of sailor symbols such as anchors and mermaids and ships sailed on his arms and legs. A pair of wings fluttered against his breastplates. 

His teeth were white and straight and his carmel eyes were surrounded by long, thick eyelashes. It seemed like there was a permanent tint of blush on his cheeks.

He wasn’t tall, but wasn’t short. He had a lean frame, his arms and waist were very skinny and it almost seemed like you would break him if you touched too roughly.

Like he was made of fine china. 

And he probably was.

He picked up both men and women regularly at bars and uni parties and took them back to his flat where they fucked under the dim brightness of the Christmas lights he strung around the window frame.

~

The man, who was in his very early twenties, worked at a bookshop that helped pay for his Uni tuition. The book store was conveniently next to a small coffee shop so all the hipsters could come in with their to-go coffee and wander through the poetry section. 

He worked along side with two older ladies that owned the bookstore and they were very sweet on him. 

They told him stories about the 50’s and how everything was so simple and careless. 

In return he told them about his boring life, about his lack of relations and the subjects he’s studding in school, which topics he’s going to major in, which pieces of art he recently sold, which song he learned to play on that dingy piano he had. 

They were the first real, close friends he ever had. 

One day while he was working the register and multitasking by reading a book in Urdu, a man about his age came in and asked about textbooks.

He was very pale and had dark rings under his eyes. His voice was slightly scratchy so he assumed that he was recovering from the cold that had been going around. 

His muscular built was wrapped up in a thick jacket, which only seemed a little bit off as it was around 60 degrees outside.

The man who sported a buzz cut approached the register and smiled at the tanned boy.

“I’m wondering if you sold any textbooks here.” He stated in a tired tone.

The tan man’s breath unnoticeably hitched and his permanent blush got a shade darker. He blinked his long eyelashes a few times before shyly smiling back and replying

“Of course, what do you need? I’ll get it for you, you must be very tired.” 

As soon as the words left his mouth he knew something was wrong by the was the other boys eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. 

His mouth dropped open slightly and his heart and kicked up speed to a thousand beets a minute. 

How embarrassing.

“I-sorry- i didn’t mean...I speak English!” he sputtered out, trying to defend himself. 

The other man laughed and his cheeks rose up to his eyes. 

He looked down in humiliation, his cheeks flaming red. 

“No, I'm not laughing at you I promise.” His head lifted a little bit. His eyes flicked to the foreign book he was perviously reading and cursed as he slammed it shut.

“I’m sorry, you see I was reading an Urdu book at you just came in and my brain didn’t translate and...” he rambled on. The man with the buzz cut smiled and shook his head.

“Alright mate, don’t worry about it. Thought it was very impressive. Now about those textbooks...” he reassured him. The tanned man looked up and nodded. He waved his hand and gestured for the man to follow him.

~

The man with the buzz cut and soft brown eyes visited him daily, bringing half drunken cups of coffee and fresh scones to share with him. Their eyes shone like the sun each time they saw each other. 

The artistic man shared some of his personal favorite books to the other man, even though he admitted he didn’t read that much. 

He read them anyway.

They had a thing where they each had to learn something, then share it with each other the next time they met. The man with a buzz cut wanted to be an engineer, and was on his way to succeeding that dream at the same university as the middle eastern man went to.

He taught the in-progress engineer words of Urdu and taught him small phrases of sign language. His sister was deaf, but no one knew that. No one really knew about the tanned mans’s past. 

And no one really asks because it wasn’t important. He wasn’t very important. 

They two men grew fond of each other. The mended closer each day and trusted one another about secrets and dark past, truths, and family memories. They held onto each others minds. Only shared the knowledge with themselves.

After months of conversations and shared coffee and scones, with a little bit of accidental touches and quite a bit of hand holding, their lips met and souls poured out of them, slowly becoming one.

And they could not separate.

Many moons had past and they loved each other when no one else would. They shared coffees and read books to one another and held hands and studied for exams, they bought things for each other even though it meant nothing as much as their presence did, they kissed and shared clothes, they shared beds and each others hearts.

Suddenly, the artist realized that the flat was not so lonely with the other man taking up space.

He liked it that way, and it would stay that way.

And one day when the hours were deep into the night. Blackness overtaking the room when the only light was the lone moon shining it’s light through the window. The two lovers lay, their skin shone in the moonlight with sweat. Their breaths heavy and hearts jumping with excitement.

The soft, brown-eyed boy’s head was resting upon the tan boys chest. His bony fingers reached out to trace the foreign symbols that looked like the stroke of a paint brush. The characters spelling out meanings the brown-eyed boy could not comprehend. 

His ring finger traced the black ink that was pierced into the other boys collar bone. The symbols painted out a picture. 

“What does it say?” His voice was a heavy whisper.

The tan boy looked into the pools of brown looking up expectantly at him. He smiled and melted his heart into his reply.

“If you’re lost at sea, I’ll sail to find you”

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm sorry I didn't use names. It wasn't originally intended to be about them, but it took it's own course and turn out how it is. I didn't want to go back and add the name part somewhere so I just let the descriptions name them. I hope it wasn't too confusing. I changed somethings about them, for example the tattoos and other small things, but it is an AU...
> 
> I would love comments and whatnot.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
